


Bare Minimum

by margiela



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margiela/pseuds/margiela
Summary: Imagine not being able to breathe without your idiotic boyfriend saying, "That's hot."(Chan doesn't actually mind.)
Relationships: Heo Chan/Im Sejun
Comments: 17
Kudos: 93





	Bare Minimum

**Author's Note:**

> no one:
> 
> sejun: my boyfriend is hot for simply existing
> 
> this fic is stupid but i hope u enjoy anyway mwah
> 
>  **edit on 200806 at 1:16 AM:** some of you may have noticed that this had a diff fic for a bit, it was because i was editing a bunch of works of mine and accidentally pasted another work into this fic instead bc i am Dumb. so sorry for the confusion!

“You wanna tell me why you just snuck three packages of Oreos into the cart like I’m not right here and can’t see?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. He tries not to smile at how his boyfriend could pass for a guilty puppy because of the way he’s looking at him right now, but it’s hard when Im Sejun is the embodiment of a baby angel. 

If Chan was being honest with himself, he’d find a way to give Sejun the world if he asked for it. But when has he ever been fully honest with himself on the topic of how absolutely wrapped around Sejun’s finger he is. Their friends love to remind him constantly and it’s the reason why he never thinks about it on his own too deeply because: How Embarrassing. 

“I—” Sejun falters, pouting. “Why can’t we get three?” 

“Because we’re not gonna finish all three by the time they go bad,” Chan says patiently. He nods at the shelf. “Put two back.” The only time Chan has brain cells is when he’s at the grocery store. Because someone has to stop Sejun (and him) from only buying junk. They need nutrients, or something. Chan doesn’t really know, he just remembers something from elementary school about a pyramid and something about a balanced diet blah-blah-blah. 

“You’re so mean to me,” Sejun sighs, but does as he’s told, because deep down he knows that Chan is right. 

As they continue down the store aisles and grabbing the other things that they need, Sejun points out the little knick-knacks and junk that the store has on display hanging off of the shelves, like tiny frying pans made specially for cooking one singular egg, or an entire display of tiny whisks. Sejun is particularly fascinated and endeared by the tiny whisks and puts one into their cart, and Chan can’t even bring himself to say no. 

Tiny whisks seem necessary to a kitchen’s arsenal of tools. Chan doesn’t think they even have a regular sized whisk. 

Chan takes a quick glance through their grocery list on his phone one last time and compares it to the items they have in their cart. He’s proud to see that they barely have any items in the cart that weren’t listed, which means they’re mostly on budget. Plus, a few of the things they got were on sale, and that leaves a tiny bit of extra money. 

“Go grab another package of Oreos,” Chan says, and this time he really can’t help the little giggle he lets out at the sight of Sejun’s bright smile, those dimples of his that Chan loves so much making an appearance—and he has to stop himself from swooning, lest he keels over and blacks out right there on the grocery store floor. “I’ll get in line first, hurry.” 

Sejun leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Chan’s temple as he runs off, and Chan can feel his face warming up, almost certainly turning some embarrassing shade of pink as he pushes the cart towards the registers to get in line. 

When Sejun returns, he puts the Oreos into the cart gently, like how one would handle a newborn baby. Clearly the cookies are precious to the man. After a few minutes of waiting, during which Chan looked through a pet magazine on the display and cried over the corgi puppies, it was finally their turn to pay. 

Together, they put all their items on the belt, Sejun treated the cookies oh-so-gingerly once again. Chan pulls out his wallet. 

“I’ve got it this time, baby,” Chan says, pulling his credit card out of it’s slot and stepping up the card reader and ready to swipe whenever the worker is done scanning all their items. 

“That’s hot.” 

Chan turns to his boyfriend slowly, not sure if he heard correctly. He can see in the corner of his eye that the worker is also giving Sejun a strange look. The taller man is just looking at him, like he doesn’t get why he’s getting strange looks. Chan can feel himself blush and he just turns back to the card reader, hoping to God, Buddha, or whoever the fuck else that this goes quick. 

And then in the car: 

“Why’d you say that?” Chan is confused. 

“Because you’re hot.” Sejun says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, one brow cocked, like he doesn’t understand why Chan is asking him this. 

“I was just paying for our groceries?” 

“And that’s hot.” 

“.....Okay.” 

Chan doesn’t try to pretend that he always understands his boyfriend and sometimes it is best that way.

Something tells Chan that he doesn’t need this Mathematics Philosophy 201 class as a dance major, but if the system tells him that he must waste his time and tuition money on classes he does not need, then he supposes he must listen. 

Plus it was either this, or an actual math class. And bullshitting his way through an explanation for a math concept sounded a lot better than taking calculus. However, while he’s studying for this, he’s regretting going to university in the first place. University is a scam. 

“Is this what counts as studying these days?” Sejun asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as he drinks from his water bottle and watches Chan sit at the kitchen table with his head down on his laptop, his forehead pressing into the keys. 

“I’m taking a break,” Chan says, and his voice is muffled because his mouth is practically pressed against the trackpad. Probably not the most hygienic thing to do, seeing as over time his hands have been many places, to say the least. He will not elaborate. 

“Why aren’t you taking a break vertically?” 

“Back hurts from the crushing weight of impending failure,” Chan says, and Sejun laughs, and the sound of it is enough to bring a smile to Chan’s face.

“Then wouldn’t lying down help with that?” Sejun pauses. “Horizontally,” Sejun clarifies, and Chan can hear him walk over and feels his presence behind him. “You’re not gonna fail.” Chan feels the younger thread his fingers through his hair, and he relaxes. 

Turns out that’s a mistake, because there is nothing relaxing about the way man tightens his grip and pulls his head up by his hair and Chan is yowling in pain. 

“Ow, ow, ow!” Chan cries, and Sejun lets go, smoothing his hair down like he hadn’t just yanked at it. 

“Thought you like it when I pull your hair,” Sejun says loftily, and Chan glares, rubbing at his head. “You don’t seem very turned on.” 

“Only when we’re—” Chan stops, sputtering. Sejun grins. “There is no possible way I’d be turned on with my philosophy textbook open.” 

“You mean the work of—” Sejun pauses to glance at the pages of Chan’s textbook, “—René Descartes doesn’t make you feel frisky?” 

“I can’t believe you just said ‘René Descartes’ and ‘frisky’ in the same sentence,” Chan says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slowly. 

“So that’s a no?” 

Chan just looks at him, frowning, and Sejun laughs, leaning down to drop a kiss on Chan’s forehead. The sounds of the other man’s laughter is enough for him to smile, and he hates how Sejun always has this effect on him. 

“Hey!” Chan says, sounding petulant when Sejun pulls away, scrunching his brows so his face displays faux-disgruntlement. “I want a real kiss.” 

Sejun uses his fingers to tip Chan’s face upwards by his chin, tilting his own face down to slot their mouths together for a long, lingering kiss and when he pulls away, Chan feels equally dazed and energized. 

“That was better than a shot of espresso,” Chan says, grinning dopily, and Sejun snorts, grabbing his water bottle off the kitchen table and starting towards their bedroom. 

“I’m going to bed,” he says. And over his shoulder as an afterthought: “Don’t stay up too late.” 

“I won’t!”

Chan stays up until four in the morning. 

Needless to say he is dead asleep when Sejun leaves in the morning to go to class, and doesn’t wake up till noon. When he heads to the bathroom and flicks the light on, he’s greeted by a pink, heart-shaped sticky note on the mirror proclaiming, “ _Coffee in the pot and lunch on the counter for you_!” in Sejun’s neat handwriting. Chan smiles to himself as he goes through the motions of brushing his teeth and washing his face.

When he’s finally able to head to the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the machine in the warming mode, adding his usual fixings of ice and a splash of flavored creamer. There's another heart sticky note on the lid of a dolsot that says, “Doenjang-jjigae _for you! Good luck on your exam, I love you!_ ”

Chan pulls out his phone, cheeks hurting from how hard he’s smiling because he really, really loves his boyfriend. 

**hc** : thank u for lunch and the coffee baby🥺💔

 **sj** : ofc!!!! the rice cooker is keeping some rice warm for you too ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

 **sj** : wait why is there a broken heart 

**hc** : bc i love u so much /:

 **sj** : oh ok hehe...i love u too (♡°▽°♡)

Sometimes Chan’s heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest sometimes whenever he thinks about how he feels for Sejun, which is why he Does Not Think Too Much if he can help it.

(And it shows.)

Chan likes the fact that this particular professor is prompt with grading. The same cannot be said about other professors he has had in the past. He has spent one too many semesters not knowing what his grades are in a class only for the professor to grade and publish everything a week before finals and for him and his fellow students to discover that they are failing with no way to make it up.

Luckily there is that handy-dandy saying: Cs get degrees. Or something. (It’s too bad that D does not equal diploma like it did in high school, but what can you do?)

It’s been a few hours since he had finished his exam and had gotten home, and he’s mostly forgotten about the exam because he’s been too busy trying to catch coelacanths on Animal Crossing to give it much thought. Sejun is on the other end of the couch playing yet another _otome_ game and the TV is on for some background noise. Obviously neither of them are paying attention to the music show. 

Chan’s on his way to sell his catch for the day when he gets an email notification on his phone. He usually ignores notifications in general unless they’re texts from Sejun or emails from school—he even has a special tone for both, because Chan has made the mistake of not checking school emails promptly and forgetting to do forum assignments or online quizzes. Never again. If he can help it, at least. 

“Oh god,” Chan whisper-yells, staring down at his phone. 

Sejun doesn’t look up from his phone, but he does acknowledge his boyfriend with a quiet, “Hm?”

“My exam already got graded and posted,” Chan explains. “I probably didn’t do well.” 

Now, Sejun looks up and frowns at this, locking his phone and setting it on the coffee table before he moves so he’s sitting next to Chan. He’s so close that he’s practically in the man’s lap. “I’m sure you did fine.” He says this with so much confidence that Chan almost believes him. “Let’s check the grade. I’ll even hold your hand.” Sejun gives Chan the most sugary-sweet smile and it’s hard for him not to smile back, despite the wave of stress washing over him in this moment. 

“I’m scared,” Chan mumbles as he unlocks his phone. “If I didn’t do well on this exam, I really don’t have any other chances to make it up. We barely have homework and there’s only one other exam and then a semester paper.” 

“You’ll be fine, baby. I believe in you,” Sejun says, and he leans in for a kiss on the cheek, making a loud, dramatic smacking noise as he does it. 

Chan takes a breath and opens the email and clicks the link that it contains to go and look at the gradebook for that class. Immediately, the dread that had dropped into the pit of his stomach is gone, because all things considered, he really did much better than he had thought. 

“I got a B,” Chan says softly. “I got a B!” He thinks that the shock is what makes him say it again but he doesn’t care because he got a motherfuckin’ B and that was two letter grades higher than he thought he was going to get. 

“That’s so hot.” 

Chan just looks at him. “What.”

“That’s hot!” 

Chan feels heat rush to his face even though it’s nothing to get flustered about, especially since they’re just talking about a test grade, but still. “Babe, why can’t you just tell me you’re proud of me like a normal person.” 

“Zzzz boring,” Sejun says, rolling his eyes. He brightens. “Let’s go celebrate and go out to dinner. My treat.” 

Well. Chan can’t argue with that. 

(It’s another day and they’re getting their weekly bubble tea. Boba. Whatever it’s called, Chan doesn’t really know or care. The workers got Sejun’s drink wrong. He had ordered a brown sugar matcha latte with pearls, but for some reason, they’d given him red beans. 

Sejun is too shy to ask them to fix it. Shy, anxious, same thing really. 

But Chan knows that Sejun had been looking forward to getting this drink all week, so he thinks that Sejun should get it fixed. 

In the end, he takes the drink from Sejun’s protesting hands and walks up to the pickup counter and presents them the receipt, asking them if they’re able to fix it. The worker says yes, and is all in all very quite nice about it. 

Chan returns to Sejun with a fixed drink, and the man is grateful. 

“I asked them to fix it for you,” Chan says.

“That’s hot.” 

God, this again. 

“The fact I have a smidge less social anxiety than you is hot?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

There’s really no point asking for an explanation now whenever Sejun says this, so Chan is slowly learning to just go with it. What else is he supposed to do? Not accept a (strange) stroke of the ego? Hardly.)

Hanse is throwing a party. There’s no doubt that there’s going to be a lot of people, because the kid knows so many people and those people know each other and then know other people and Chan would not be surprised if the guests’ guests start bringing guests. What does that even mean, Chan doesn’t know—he’s tired.

Sejun and Chan are getting ready to head out to the party. Chan has just gotten home from his job teaching kids to dance at a studio fifteen minutes away and part of him really doesn’t want to go to this party, if he’s being honest. But some of his high school friends are going to be there and he hasn’t seen them in a while. 

And he kind of misses Cho Seungyoun, but don’t tell him that because he’ll just get all sappy and latch onto him like the clingy bastard he is. 

(Chan says this with love.)

While Chan is showering, Sejun wanders into the bathroom and hops up onto the counter and starts talking about his day, having gotten bored of his _otome_ game. He recounts the fact that he had tripped over someone’s razor scooter on his way out of a lecture hall that morning and had almost face-planted in front of the hundred other students trying to get out. 

“Can you imagine if I had fallen?” Sejun asks, sounding concerned. “Could have broken my nose. Or my face. Or my fucking head.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t fall and break your nose. Or your face. Or your head,” Chan says, and he sticks his arm out from behind the shower curtain. “Can you hand me the face wash?” 

“Hanse saw and didn’t even ask me if I was okay,” Sejun complains, handing him the item he asked for. “He just watched and laughed.” 

“I mean. Let’s be honest with ourselves here,” Chan says, beginning to wash his face. “Are we surprised?”

“No.” And Sejun sounds glum. There’s a chime that echoes in the room, which Chan assumes is Sejun’s phone. He sounds considerably more chipper when he speaks again. “I’m gonna go back out to the living room. I got a text from Jumin.” 

Chan snorts, recognizing this as a character from Sejun’s game. “Tell him that your big, buff boyfriend is in the shower and that he should stop texting you.”

“That’s not a message option,” Sejun laughs as he leaves. “But sure!” 

Sejun is still on the couch and playing his game when Chan leaves the bathroom to go get changed. He takes a little longer than usual picking out what he wants to wear, and narrows it down to two options. Or maybe that other shirt with these jeans—

“Are you ready yet?”

Chan rolls his eyes as he puts away the clothes he had pulled from his closet. “A few more minutes!”

“How can you take longer than me?” Sejun says this like he hadn’t gotten home an hour earlier than Chan and had been able to get ready before his boyfriend got home. 

“I’m just getting dressed, please relax. Plus we don’t want to be the first ones there anyway!” Chan calls back, tugging on his pants. A tiny bit of a struggle, but it’s worth it, because he knows how good these pants make him look.

“Why not?”

“What are we gonna do when we get there with no one else around?” Chan asks, pulling a silky black button-down shirt towards him and unbuttoning it enough so he can just slip it on and over his head instead of wasting time and undoing the whole thing.

“Get drunk?”

“And then be done for the night by ten?”

“True...Just hurry up.” 

“I’m ready,” Chan says, and he’s distracted, because he’s buttoning the cuffs of his shirt as he comes into the living room. “I think it’s bring your own bottle, so we should stop at the store on the way there.” He finally looks up when he realizes that Sejun hasn’t answered.”Baby?”

Sejun is just staring. Something about his gaze as he looks Chan up and down is white hot, and it sends heat rushing up his neck. 

“What.” Chan knows that this particular pair of black skinny jeans hugs his legs just right, accentuating the thickness of his thighs and the curve of his ass. He also knows that Sejun loves these pants on him, because he never misses an opportunity to tell him. It also helps that the silky black shirt he’s wearing is only buttoned about halfway, exposing his chest slightly and the thin chains he’s wearing around his neck. He clears his throat. 

“You’re hot.” Sejun says this like it should be obvious, like it’s a well known fact.

Chan frowns, rolling his eyes and feeling the very slightest bit of annoyance. He gives Sejun a flat look, running his fingers through his hair before he speaks again. “If I’m so hot, then why don’t you do something about it?” His tone is challenging, and he’s got one brow raised to match.

A slow, sly grin makes its way onto Sejun’s face, and he lets his gaze travel from head to toe again, before he says, “...Is that an invitation?” 

Chan shrugs, acting unconcerned, but he’s already unbuttoning the sleeve cuffs that he had just finished doing up. “It can be.” 

The couple stares at each other for a heated moment, the only sound coming from the background music of Mystic Messenger on Sejun’s abandoned phone. The air is charged, and it’s like they’re waiting for the first person to make a move. In the end, Sejun stands from the couch and moves in closer, hands on Chan’s hips, fingers hooked on his belt loops. 

“We’re not going to that party anymore, are we?” Sejun doesn’t sound like he minds one bit, despite the fact that he had been rushing Chan earlier. Now he’s got his eyes locked on the motions of Chan unbuttoning his shirt oh-so-slowly. 

Chan grins, moving in closer. “Absolutely not.”

**Author's Note:**

> i think this pairing speaks to me ngl 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/wlwyoun)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/wlwseungyoun)


End file.
